


When Stars Die

by TheBurningNight



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: Brotherly Love, Family, Malec, Other, bedtime story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 13:45:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1781209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBurningNight/pseuds/TheBurningNight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Max can't get to sleep and asks Alec to tell him a story. However, Alec has never been much good at stories, so he tells him the only one he knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Stars Die

**“A billion stars go spinning through the night, blazing high above your head. But in you is the presence that will be, when all the stars are dead.”  
-Rainer Maria Rike**

The storm outside is raging. The colours are flashing against the window in infrequent spasms, the lightening causing bright, electric sheets of light to shadow the room.  Alec can only stare at the unpredictable pattern from his bed that he is currently plunged into. His mattress id old and sunken, it wore years of childhood in its springs. But it is comfy. And comfy was good.

A book is open in his hands, but he can’t focus on the words. He vaguely recalls wanting to read the book earlier in the evening, and Jace had even recommended the paperback to him, but now he can’t even remember the title. The tides of his mind are turning, washing away the wasteland of thoughts that crowded his brain. 

_The title,_ Alec idly wonders, _It had a title. Something to do with birds..._

And then that thought was gone, replaced with another as in a flash similar to the beat of the storm.  At least the storm keeps him company. Even though most of the family is actually at the Institute for once, Maryse and Robert even making an appearance, the old abandoned church feels exactly like that; abandoned. It is lonely, and all he could do is wrap his blanket around his shoulders, the ghost of an embrace. 

Of course, he could always track his way to Brooklyn (with the help from a handy yellow cab), to where someone might consider giving him an actual embrace…

_No,_ Alec stops himself, _You can’t._

His phone, which is currently residing peacefully on his wooden bedside table has were five missed calls registered on the pixelated screen. All from Magnus. All making Alec feel guilty. He turns and pulled the blankets with him, the book now lost somewhere the folds of blanket, and tries to ignore the nauseating, sinking feeling in his stomach. He feels sick, like he wanted to vomit his guts up. Worry often did that to him. Whether he was worrying about Jace, and all his recklessness and impulsivity catching him while his back was turned without him there to protect it, or Izzy and her ridiculously high shoes and short, tight dresses finally pulling her into a situation she can’t get herself out of (or either of them getting killed by a demon for that matter), he worried a lot. Too much. But he couldn’t help it.

What he wasn’t used to is the guilt. And that’s what he feels now. Guilt for not calling Magnus back.

“Alec?”

A soft voice calls to him from the door. He turns and sees a small figure peering at him behind black frames.

“Max,” Alec replies, blinking slowly at his brother, “What’s up? Can’t you sleep?”

Max puts one socked foot into his room and pulls his sleeve up above his wrist. “Yeah, a little.”

Rain starts to pour in sheets outside his window.  “Is the storm keeping you up?” He asks.

A slight shake of his head from Max and then, “No, I like the rain. I just can’t get to sleep.”

Alec smiles a little at his younger brother and then shuffles back to his original side of the bed. It is still warm from his body heat. He pats the space next to him with long pale fingers. “Come on then.”

Moments later, Max has slipped in next to his brother. He is so small, Alec lamented, he isn’t used to being close to someone so fragile.

Part of him doesn’t want Max to become a Shadowhunter. He doesn’t want the world of demons and blood and prejudice to get its dirty hands on him. He doesn’t want to see the marks and scars that came with the Shadow world on his brother. Max was always so naively inquisitive, looking at things he shouldn’t, asking questions with answers too awful, it might get him in trouble when he’s older.

But there was nothing he could do. The blood and scars would get him eventually.

“You’re cold.” Max speaks with his head next to Alec’s shoulder, his dark eyes looking up at his brother, “It’s making me cold too.”

“Sorry.” Alec mumbles. Magnus always said that his hands were permanently frozen.

“Don’t say sorry!” Max condemnes in his not-quite-at-puberty voice, “You can’t help that you have the hands of death.”

He frowns at his younger brother. “What?”

“You’re hands,” Max explains, “They’re cold. And death’s hands are cold too. That’s why you have the hands of death.”

“Who told you death’s hands were cold?” Even though he is asking the question, Alec has a terrible feeling he knew the answer.

“Jace,” Max says with a firm nod of his head, sending soft brown curls everywhere, “He told me when he was trying to tell me a story.”

“Okay,” Alec clears his throat, feeling like he needed to get something out of the way first, “Don’t listen to Jace. Listening to Jace can get you in a lot of trouble.” And he would know. When they he was 13 Jace had made Alec climb up the roof of the Institute. That was right about the time that he had discovered he was afraid of heights. It had taken Hodge three hours to coax him down.  “But why was he telling you a story?”

A faint blush appears on Max’s cheeks. “Because I couldn’t get to sleep.” He mumbles into Alec shoulder. His breath is warm on his skin.

“You like stories?” Alec asks, feeling very much like a failure of a brother, “I didn’t know that.”

“Dad says it’s childish.” Max reappears, pushing his glasses up his nose.

The sinking feeling in his stomach makes an appearance. It feels like something was squeezing at his insides, like a clown making balloon animals with his intestines.

“Oh.” Was all Alec could say. When did he become such a terrible brother?

“That’s why I asked Jace, but he wasn’t very good.” Max scrunches up his nose, looking like church when he discovered that they had put the tinned atrocity that they dared to call food in his bowl. “He always made the Princess fall off a cliff or get her face eaten by a pack of wolves or something.”

“That’s…” Alec pauses as the right word alludes him, “ _Awful_.”

“I had nightmares about the wolves one.” Max informs Alec in such a matter-a-fact voice that he almost doesn’t register that _Jace_ was causing his _little brother_ to have _nightmares_.

He is so caught up in this fact, that he doesn’t hear when Max speaks in a very cautious and quiet voice, “Will you tell me a story?”

“What?

This time, Max’s voice is stronger. “Will you tell me a story?”

“Uh…” How does one tell his little brother, who’s been emotionally scared by his idiotic adoptive brother, that, no he will _not_ tell him a story? He decides on the way he handles most things. “No. I will not tell you a story.”

Refuse. State question in statement form. Problem solved.

“Ple-ease,” Max begs, “Please tell me a story.”

What Alec’s method didn’t count of was little nine year olds seemingly infinite ability to guilt you into doing what they want .

“Fine.” He relents, “But I’m not very good, so you have to suffer through a poorly thought out story with probably no obvious plot, okay?”

Max nods with more enthusiasm than was required, “Yes, I agree; swear on the Angel.”  

“Alright,” Alec adjusts his arm so it is around Max’s shoulders, “What do you want it to be about?”

Max thinks for a moment, his lower lip out. Then his eyes light up when the light bulb in his head clicks on. “Falling in love.”

Alec thinks: _Hell no. No way. Never._   
Alec says: “Sure Max. Great choice.”

Max smiles, the corners of his mouth pulling up wards. He moves closer to Alec, his head now on his brother’s shoulder.

“Okay,” Max says, eyes closed, “You can start now.”

He searches his mind for something to say. Unfortunately, the well of ideas in his head is something that is constantly dry. He can almost see a tumble weed blowing across his metaphorical idea well.

But then he gets an idea, a small flash of inspiration.

“Um, okay. Once upon a time there was an heir to a throne that had been disgraced long ago.”

“You don’t start stories with long sentences like that,” Max disparages, “It confuses the people listening.”

“Shush. You can’t interrupt someone when telling a story.”

“But~”

Alec clears his throat. “So, as I was saying. The heir to the disgraced throne. Uh, he had a sister. She was very, very beautiful. In fact, she was admired across the land for her beauty. Wherever she went, people would turn to look.”

“ _Wherever_ she went?” Max asks doubtfully, “What about the toilet?”

“Max!” He isn’t that offended, but he doesn’t think it would be wise to encourage that sort of behaviour.

“It’s a valid question,” His younger brother insists, “Did people turn to look when she was, you know, peeing?”

“That’s not even the point.” Alec exclaims, exasperated, “I was just trying to explain to you just how beautiful the girl was.”

“Well I was just trying to ask if~”

“Enough,” Alec interrupts, “The sister was unbelievably beautiful, alright?” Max nods, not saying anything, so he keeps going. “The sister and the heir also had a brother, from another kingdom. He was handsome and had girls following him around everywhere he went. The father of the heir was very proud of the brother, for he was also the best fighter in the land.”

“Now, this is kinda back tracking a little, and I know you shouldn’t do that in stories, but there is a reason the throne was disgraced. A long, long time ago, when the heir was just a baby, his parents worked for an evil sorcerer.”

“You mean like a warlock?” Max asks.

“No. I mean like a sorcerer. Anyway, so they worked for the sorcerer. But then the sorcerer was killed by a kingdom from the origin land, the land from where all these kingdoms were born from, and the parents of the heir, the beauty and the fighter were disgraced. They were sent to a faraway land, and that’s where this story takes place.”

“What?” Max cries out, his eyes wrenching open, “You mean the story hasn’t even begun yet?”

“That was, like, background information. You know, like an introduction.”

Max lets out an almighty sigh, his chest deflating. “Alec,” He says patiently, “This isn’t a history paper, okay? This is a story and stories don’t have introductions, they have _orientations._ You’re meant to give the background stuff as you go.”

“I told you I was bad at this.” Alec mumbles.

Max waves his hand in a wide, dismissive arch, “Whatever. Keep going.”

Ignoring the fact that his brother had given him a surprisingly diva-like hand wave, that unnervingly reminds him of Magnus, he continues.

“One day, the fighter rescued a lost girl and brought her back to the kingdom. Their heir wasn’t so happy about his. The lost girl was from a different  kingdom, from a different land and it made him nervous, but the fighter insisted. “She’s from here,” he said to the heir, “I know it.” Nothing the heir could say or do would dissuade the fighter. So the fighter, who was rash and impulsive and sometimes kind of an idiot, embarked on a quest. A quest to help the lost girl.”

“With what?” Max asks, yet again, “The lost girl is just the lost girl. She’s always been lost, hasn’t she?”

Despite himself, Alec feels himself smile very slightly.

“Yeah,” He replies, “But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to be found.”

Max humms. “Fine. Okay. Keep going.”

“Thanks for the permission. Anyway, the lost girl isn’t even that big part of this story. She’s kind of on the side. So, one day, on his quest, the fighter comes across a mysterious name.” As if the storm was listening, a loud crack of thunder followed. Lightening danced in the reflection of the window. “The name of a very powerful…” He pauses, trying to think of another variety of fairy tale persona that could match the character. “…warlock.” He ends lamely.

“Warlock?”

“Mm hm,” Alec squeals, hoping Max wouldn’t start making connection between this warlock and a certain one in real life, “Next, the fighter, the heir and the lost girl are stumped. They don’t know how to get in contact with the warlock. And then, one afternoon, the beauty hears them talking about the name and says, “Oh, I’ve heard of that name before.” And she pulls out a piece of parchment that’s an invitation to a ball. A ball hosted by the warlock.”

This time, Max laughs. Alec decides that he likes making his brother laugh.

“I bet the fighter and the heir loved that.” Max says, still smiling.

“Yeah,” Alec smiles too, “They were thrilled. So, the next night they made their way to the ball. The beauty had only one invitation, for one person, but all of them had to be there, so they all went. When they walk into the ballroom all they see is bodies. Bodies everywhere, dancing to the music playing through the room.” He wasn’t making much up anymore. He remembering. Green gooey stuff all over the room, all different colours pulsing under the lights, blue drinks, vampire bikes. “But that’s all in the background to the heir when the warlock appears.”

“He is the most amazing thing that the heir has ever seen. Beautiful and perfect, it makes the heir’s heart beat fast.  The night goes on and the heir is too shy to talk to the warlock. The warlock is confident and striking, whereas the heir prefers to hide in the shadows. Surprisingly, however, at the end of the night when it’s nearly time to go, the warlock says something to the heir.”

“Do they fall in love?” Max pipes up, eyes open and hopeful.

“Hang on, I’m not finished yet,” Alec is thankful that the only light in the room is an occasional flash of lightening, otherwise, Max would see the red in his cheeks. “Call me?” The warlock asked.  And the heir, not knowing what to say, is spluttering and blushing until the fighter drags him off. ‘That was pointless,’ says the fighter, ‘The warlock did not help to find the lost girl.’ The lost girl is still lost. The fighter’s quest is not over. So, they search, all of them. Search for the key that can help the lost girl.”

“When they finally do find the key, it is at first happy, triumphant. But then evil strikes and tries to take the key that can help find the lost girl. Everyone is panicking, but especially the fighter. He wants to save the lost girl and he would do anything within his power to make that happen. In fact, he is focused so much of his attentions on her, that he doesn’t realise that the heir has been hurt.”

At this sentence he has to try very hard to not twist his face in the memory of that incident. He blushes and even though he has long since buried that night in his field of memories. Maybe it was too shallow a grave, he thinks.

“The heir was hurt. Pretty badly too. The fighter runs over, he is panicking saying the heir’s name over and over and over until…” His voice fades. He tries to remember what had happened but he can’t really remember.

“Until what?” Max prompts, his small hand curing on Alec’s shoulder.

“I don’t know.” Alec whispers, staring out the window. He watches as a drop of water runs down the glass, creating a line behind it. “All the heir remembers is waking up and seeing…” His voice catches again and he wants to smack his head into the door. _Grow up._ “ _Him_. All beautiful and stunning and gorgeous and-“ He stops himself before he says it. All that really mattered to him was that Magnus was _there,_ actually corporally there. When Jace was off in unknown Magnus had stayed.

“And?” Max questions, his foot scraping against Alec’s.

Alec is still staring at the window and this time he sees a drop of water collide with another. They run down the glass together.  “And _tired._ ” He thinks of a replacement word quickly, “He has wasted all his magic on healing the heir.”

He can feel Max turn of his side, so his front is pressed against Alec’s side. He can feel his bunched up hand at his bicep.

“Do they kiss?” And it takes Alec a while to actually realise what his little brother was asking.

“ _Excuse me_?” He says, his eyebrows very close to disappearing behind a fringe on dark hair.

Max repeats the question. “Do they kiss? Jace said that when people have crushes on each other they kiss. That’s how you know they like you.”

Alec sighs. “Max,” he says, “There are lots of other ways to tell if people like you. You don’t have to go pash them on the lips.”

“Izzy says,” Max begins and Alec almost dreads the end of this sentence as much as he dreads any sentence that starts with ‘Jace says’, “That when a girl likes you they laugh a lot. Is that true?”

He doesn’t want to tell Max how inexperienced he is in the area of girls attraction to him. Instead, he turns bright red and he is sure the heat coming of his skin will be enough to warm Max up.

“…Sure.” He answers after a suspicious silence, “Sure they do.”

“So, does the heir and the warlock kiss?” Max is relentless.

“No,” Alec replies, “Not then.”

Then suddenly he can feel Magnus’ arms at his back, the ghost of a memory. His lips are also on Alec. Then he can feel Magnus’ shirt underneath his fingers and he _really remembers_ then. He blushes, at least he thinks so, he can’t really tell anymore with the amount of red that colours his face.

Max huffs again. His eyes are starting to close, and Alec notices that his eyelids aren’t as pale as his or Izzy’s. He has long lashes like Izzy, though. “Do they get a happy ending?”

This question startles Alec, like many of Max’s questions, but this was is different. This one is somehow important and he tries to search for an answer, he tries and tries but nothing is there. There’s a blank where that answer should be.

He finally settles with saying, “I don’t know.” Because he doesn’t think Max is paying attention anymore.

His little, fragile brother yawns sleepily (as if there was any other way to yawn). “Oh, well.” He breathes contentedly, “At least in was better than the princess with no face.”

 


End file.
